LITMIR.BIZ

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was suddenly very studious with her drawing, nodding in agreement.

      ‘I hate it when that happens,’ I said. ‘And why do they always steal the good biscuits and leave the custard creams behind?’

      Nate laughed. ‘You have the same burglar.’

      ‘Only when I remember to buy biscuits.’ My shopping habits were erratic to say the least.

      ‘We do have custard creams,’ said Nate, ‘although they’re a bit broken and some of them look a bit nibbled around the edges.’

      Grace tucked her head in a little like a turtle trying to take cover and over her blonde curls Nate shot me a quick conspiratorial smile.

      ‘But if you can bear to wait, I can knock up bacon and eggs. I’ll just get them going.’

      ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

      He crossed to the big American-style fridge, shooting me another wide and warm smile. It was the first time since we’d first met that I felt a touch of that original spark. I got the impression that the guards around his emotions had been reinforced and that he’d deliberately put up the barriers.

      I turned back to Grace. ‘I’m sorry there won’t be any gingerbread today. I wondered if you might be free tomorrow.’

      Grace’s head bobbed up and she looked at her dad with pleading eyes.

      His face was sombre. ‘I’m not sure; maybe we should leave it for this weekend.’

      I’d been afraid he was going to say that.

      ‘Please, Daddy,’ said Grace as Nate tossed rashers of bacon in a frying pan, having just cut a large sourdough loaf into slices.

      Concern lined his face and I could see his dilemma. Was he prepared to give me a second chance? I could understand his reservations.

      ‘I have no plans for tomorrow.’ But I was scared of over-promising and letting him down again. ‘And Dad should be back tomorrow morning.’ Behind my back I crossed my fingers. ‘Although I might have to pick him up from the airport, but that won’t take all day. What if we said tomorrow afternoon?’

      He still had that not-sure look on his face. I watched as Grace carefully schooled hers, the brief flare of hope replaced with a bland impassive expression that was far too grown-up for a seven-year old. She picked up a pencil and went back to her determined colouring. I watched as guilt, sadness, regret and worry warred with each other across Nate’s face.

      He looked down at his daughter, his mouth crimping at one corner, and then he looked my way, studying me as if trying to measure my trustworthiness. I looked back at him. There was no point saying any more; the decision had to come from him.

      ‘OK,’ he said eventually, making it sound like a business meeting, before turning back to the frying pan. ‘Tomorrow afternoon. Two?’

      Grace didn’t look up but her busy pencil paused for a minute, held above one of the lines. I looked down at her bent head, filled with the urge to wrap my arms around her and give her a big hug. When I looked up at Nate he was watching me, wariness in his eyes.

      ‘Two’s perfect. That’ll give me time to do some shopping.’ I copied his businesslike attitude. This was a transaction; I was going to have to start over to earn his trust. ‘Can I assume you have the basics, like flour, sugar, butter or should I just bring everything?’

      ‘I think we’d better have a quick look now.’ Nate’s mouth twisted in a quick lopsided smile and I relaxed a bit. ‘I don’t think you can assume anything. Baking is not exactly my thing.’

      ‘You do very good cheese on toast, Daddy.’

      Nate moved to her side and ruffled her hair. ‘I do.’

      ‘That’s because you’ve had lots of practice. And what does practice make?’

      ‘Perfect,’ said Nate with a rueful laugh, catching my eye. ‘I’m not much of a cook, apart from breakfast.’

      ‘And you were going to attempt a gingerbread house?’

      He lifted his shoulders in a brief shrug.

      While he cooked breakfast I borrowed a charger and called Mum but her phone was switched off after all that, so I phoned the hospital to find out how she was. I was put through to the ward and apparently she’d had a good night and was due to go down to the fracture clinic some time soon. I looked at my watch. I’d better make breakfast a quick one. I sent Mum a text to let her know I’d see her in the clinic as soon as possible.

      ‘Here you go, William’s finest breakfast,’ said Nate, pushing a plate towards me.

      We’d moved to sit at the dining table in the long end of the L-shaped extension off the kitchen.

      ‘Mmm,’ I said, realising I was hungry, which was probably just as well.

      ‘You don’t need to be polite,’ said Grace. ‘Daddy’s a terrible cook.’ She poked at the white of the fried egg on her plate; it had a bubbly, plasticky consistency and the pale yellow yolk looked extremely dry.

      Nate sighed. ‘She’s right … I can never seem to get the timing right.’

      ‘When someone else has cooked for me, I’m not complaining. And the bacon looks delicious.’

      ‘That’s cos Daddy threw the first lot away.’

      There were little burnt bits all over the second batch of bacon.

      ‘Can I make a suggestion?’

      Nate looked suspicious but nodded.

      ‘You might find it easier if there was less multitasking.’

      He wrinkled his nose. ‘You got me. I was checking work emails. Bad habit. I really ought to switch my phone off at the weekends.’

      ‘You should, Daddy. It’s boring.’ She sounded very grown-up.

      He grinned and ruffled her hair. ‘Point taken, pumpkin.’

      Despite the food not being Cordon Bleu standard, it wasn’t that bad and there were three clean plates.

      When I rose to help clear up, Nate shook his head. ‘No, you stay there. You’re the guest.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘It’s all going in the dish—’ He was interrupted by his phone and he glanced down at the screen.

      ‘Daddy …’ Grace’s warning tone made me smile.

      He tilted an eyebrow. ‘What if it’s one of your friend’s mummies?’

      ‘You can answer it.’ Her regal nod made me duck my head to hide my amusement.

      ‘Hi. Yes, we’re fine. I’m not sure. Let me check with her.’ He broke off the conversation and spoke to Grace. ‘It’s Sophie’s mummy. Do you want to go round there for lunch and to play?’

      Grace jumped off her chair. ‘Yes, please. Can I take my LOL dolls? Sophie has the house.’ Grace turned to me with shining eyes. ‘The real house. It’s awesome.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Awesome sauce.’

      ‘Really?’ I widened my eyes to match. Thanks to my cousins’ daughters, I knew what LOL dolls were and had bought a fair few over the last couple of years for birthdays and Christmases, which reminded me, I needed to make a start on my shopping. Christmas was creeping up and I’d done nothing yet.

      Nate finished making the arrangements while Grace darted off to round up her dolls.

      I sat back in my seat, tiredness catching up with me, and couldn’t hold back a yawn.

      ‘More coffee?’ asked Nate, bringing the cafetière to the table.

      ‘I think I’m going to need it.’

      ‘Would

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